


Bruised and Battered Heart

by Cuptivate



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Bilbo takes the lead, Dain gets put in place, Dwalin Feels, Dwalin fears, Dwalin gets some loving, F/M, Fluff, Legolas is a darling, Near Death Experience, Possessive Bilbo, Sassy Bilbo, Smut, apart from Azog, definitely smut, determined Bilbo, phylosophical Dwalin, protective company, the fears of Dwalin, the ring is just a ring that makes invisible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-08-19 15:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20212276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuptivate/pseuds/Cuptivate
Summary: Dwalin thought he knew fear. It took the quest for him to realize that he knew nothing.





	1. Cold

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, fluff and angst with my favourite gruff dwarf. It was meant to be a OneShot but I’m as ever hopeless in keeping it short. Also lemons. This is my first time writing smut. It was surprisingly easy and I’m not sure what that says about me ... ;) Hope you like :)

Many would say true warriors knew no fear. Some would insist on it, actually. It was utter rubbish, of course. Warriors knew fear just like everybody else.

Dwalin certainly knew fear, had experienced it plenty of times in his long life.

If someone had asked him before the quest he would have explained that, in his opinion, there were three different kinds of fear: first, the one that was more of a foreboding feeling than an imminent threat, a niggling sensation of sorts that gave a brief lurch in the stomach; second, the one that had him hesitate going to sleep, knowing he’d be plagued by night terrors. And third the one that could choke him in a terrible grip, nearly suffocating, momentarily making the knees feel like jelly and the blood rush in his ears. This one happened frequently when there was danger and it was the one he was most familiar with.

All of those fears Dwalin could face, and had faced more times than he cared to remember.

The first one was easiest to brush aside, as foreboding feelings couldn’t be helped and were nothing to worry about when every dwarf’s future was in Mahal’s hand. Often the foreboding feeling went hand in hand with instinct, honed in a century of a warrior’s life. It had saved him more oft than disturbed him.

The second type of fear could easily be remedied by drinking more ale, until he passed out in a dreamless stupor. Didn’t work of course when there was no ale to be had or when he was on duty. Which had led him to learn to cope with very little sleep.

The third type of fear usually only lasted a moment, freezing even the stoutest, bravest heart, prompting Dwalin immediately to grind his teeth and grip his axes tighter, readying himself to face the enemy in a surge of adrenaline.

Dwalin could recount the times this third kind of fear held him in its utterly suffocating, terrible grip without difficulty: the day Smaug came, when the trek of survivors crossed the Misty Mountains and was ambushed by orcs on wargs, causing carnage amongst the already vulnerable weakest amongst their numbers. Then the endless terror of Azanulbizar, where days and weeks and months of terror bled into each other into one seamless nightmare. Then during the quest, when they saw Azog alive and his fool of a king went after the white orc on his own.

Overall that wasn’t so bad for a lifetime of hardship.

Or so he thought.

Mirkwood, however, had taught him a new kind of fear. The blasted forest had been a terror no axe could fight and Dwalin had almost been glad when the spiders came upon them.

Being stuck in the wood sprite’s dungeons had been yet another new kind of fear. One that had him feel utterly helpless and with the dread of all hope lost, yet again. The same fear he felt when they were finally in the mountain and Thorin fell to the gold sickness. Helplessness and all hope lost.

Charging into battle had been good. Dwalin had not felt fear then. He was ready to die a warrior’s death if need be.

If not for Bilbo that would have concluded his knowledge of fear. 

But the quest had taught him yet another fear. The kind that made his heart feel as if it had been set on fire and doused in ice cold water at the same time. The one that had his big hands go sweaty and his mouth go dry. The one that had his stomach churn and his dwarfhood twitch. The one that made him acutely aware of his age, of every scar on his face and hands, of every bad and depraved thought he ever had in his life, of every time he rejoiced in smashing something and killing someone, of every time he had been less than gentle and more than happy to be rough.

That fear had entirely to do with Bilbo Baggins.

He had not liked bringing the hobbit along as their burglar. Not at all. She was a soft creature and her place was in her warm, comfortable home, not in the Wilds. Yet both his King and the damnable wizard had decided otherwise.

Dwalin had kept his distance. She was one more chore to him after all, one more weak link whose safety fell to his responsibility. He had barely spoken to her for months, trying to keep her firmly in the realm of annoying oddity during the day and of lonely fantasy during the night, and the fear at bay. Because that new kind of fear gripped him almost constantly when in the proximity of Bilbo Baggins.

Fear to open up to her, only to be rejected. Fear to show the softness in his heart he had buried so deep inside of him that he was almost sure it could never be uncovered. Fear that it would be another night’s watch where she sought him out to simply sit next to him in silence, rendering him speechless and dumb, with his blood rushing so loudly in his ears that he would not even have heard an army of orcs racing towards them, and with the blood rushing from his brain to his dwarfhood, making him painfully hard and uncomfortable. The fear that every time Bilbo raised her gaze to look at him with her hazel eyes she would finally see all his scars and recognize his age and decrepitness and step back in disgust.

Oh, aye, he had tried to keep his distance and used his gruff manners like a shield. She was undeterred by his hard exterior though. In fact, her unerring kindness and friendly manners had continuously chipped away at his hard shell. He could say with all honesty that nobody had ever treated him with as much care and courtesy as Bilbo Baggins; she had never looked at him as if he was a beast either - apart maybe on the first night, when he had barged into her home and eaten her dinner without so much as a by your leave.

By the end of the quest she had well proven her courage and loyalty, and completely ensnared him with her sarcastic, witty character. Under all her prim and proper manners she was a little firecracker and there had been many a night where he had to take himself in hand at the thought of soft curves in his arms and his nose in honey-golden curls.

But even that worst fear he’d ever known was nothing compared to the fear that gripped his very soul when the ice broke under Bilbo’s feet and her small figure disappeared into the freezing water on Ravenhill.

A part of him cursed viciously. He should have _known_, he should have foreseen it, he was a warrior, he should have _anticipated_ it: The thick ice on the frozen water of Ravenhill had cracked during the battle between Azog and Thorin. The king had barely managed to stay on his feet on the floating shards, and Azog had shattered them even more when he broke thorough the ice to pin Thorin down. Dwalin’s heart had clenched and he could only stare, too far away to intervene and busy with the never ending stream of goblins and orcs alike, his mouth agape and his breath hitching, sure that this would be the end of his King. But then Azog suddenly howled in pain and collapsed to his side. And while Thorin managed to roll out under him and take his head with one mighty swing of his sword, the small, slight figure of Bilbo materialized on the ice not ten feet away from the victorious Durin, her little letter opener dripping with Azog’s black blood.

They had stared at each other for a moment, the king and the hobbit, and Thorin had fallen to his knees and said her name, reaching for her with his head bowed low in a gesture that showed his remorse about his actions with the whole damnable affair regarding the Arkenstone.

And then there had been a crack and the ice broke under the hobbit’s furry feet and Bilbo fell without even the time to shriek. She instantly was swallowed by the dark, icy water, honey-blonde curly hair and all. Before Thorin had even managed to stagger to his feet Dwalin was already moving, dropping his warhammer and sprinting along the water’s edge and as good as leaping across several broken ice shards like a fucking frog over lily pads (and wouldn’t she have laughed at that analogy!). Without hesitation and no consideration for himself he had lunged into the water after the hobbit. He had to dive deep to grab her and nearly lost her twice when she thrashed so much in her panic that she almost slipped his grip. When Dwalin finally broke through the water’s surface with a harsh gasp he had a hard time to find purchase with his right hand, the ice too slippery to hold on to. He ground his teeth and kept furiously kicking his legs, ignoring the weight of his armour and the twang of exhaustion and the pain of the freezing water that embraced his chest in an ice cold grip.

A grip as hard as the one he had on the limp hobbit in his arm.

Suddenly the blonde elf was there, laying belly down, flat on the ice, reaching for him. How he managed to drag them both out of the water Dwalin would never be able to tell, his movements careful and deliberate, if agonizingly slow; dwarf and elf freezing in their struggles and staring at each other wide eyed every time the ice cracked ominously again.

But then they were out and on blessedly solid rock.


	2. Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the scene that first popped into my head ...

Dimly he noticed the eagles and that the noise of the battle in the plain before Erebor had died down. A victory then, Dwalin thought, distracted, as he carried the hobbit a few feet and put her gently on the ground.

Dwalin was cold. He could not feel his fingers.

Dwarrow were made by Mahal to be immune against the effects of extreme temperatures, both hot and cold. If a dwarf could not feel his fingers after falling into icy water there was no doubt that a hobbit would fare far worse. Bilbo’s old, ripped and buttonless coat was soaked and dripping and the skin of her face and hands had turned grey. Naked panic gripped Dwalin for a moment at the sight of her lifeless body on the ground before him. He pressed against her chest several times with the flat of his hand and immediately rolled her to her side when she came to, spluttering and coughing. Her gasps for air were followed by pained whimpers and he knew he had managed to save her from drowning. To safe her from death by freezing to her very bones, however, it was imperative to get her warm and dry as quickly as possible. For that she had to get out of her wet clothes. Dwalin immediately began stripping her. She protested weakly and her small hands tried to fend him off. Her eyes were wide and hazy, and _terrified_.

“I’ve got to get you out of those wet clothes, lass,” he said roughly, fumbling with the rope at her slim waist that functioned as belt. Legolas knelt next to him and tried to help but he slapped his hands away with a growl. The elf huffed and walked off, Dwalin didn’t take the time to watch where to. Finally he flung her belt away and carefully peeled the coat and the Mithril shirt off the now violently shaking lass.

“Dwalin!” Fili’s voice. A quick glance told Dwalin that the Heir was injured, but not gravelly so. Good. Nevertheless he was pale and swaying, holding up Thorin, who looked worse for wear, bleeding from multiple gashes and cuts and holding his torso with a pained grimace. Their eyes met briefly. The king gave him a nod, conveying that he was well enough.

“See to your uncle. And one of you give me their tunic,” Dwalin ordered curtly without pausing in his work. He didn’t know where Kili was, but he didn’t have the time to worry about the young raven now. Dwalin ripped his own heavy belt off, and the chain mail, and the tunic for good measure. His pants were soaked, too, of course, but that couldn’t be helped just now, and he’d have a hard time taking them off with his boots in the way. Fili thrust a dry tunic into his hand a moment later, his bare torso black and blue with bruises. Thorin sat on the stone, swaying slightly, his eyes on Bilbo’s shaking form and on the hand-shaped bruise on her neck. Dwalin knelt next to her and began stripping her naked, ripping off her soaked tunic and pants, followed by her bindings and drawers. He did not take the time to even look at her closely, too mortified by the greyness of her skin. She watched him with glossy eyes, all fight gone out of her, her body busy with violent shakes and her ashen face scrunched up while she sobbed and whimpered pitifully. He had no feeling in his hands and the struggle to fumble with her clothes took too long. Fili helped him in the end; one of the few Dwalin would permit to touch the hobbit when she was in such an exposed state.

By the time he had Fili’s dry tunic on her, lifted Bilbo into his strong arms and pressed her against his naked chest, stumbling towards the path that led down from Ravenhill, too much time had passed for his liking. Anxiety and fear flooded his veins.

He had to get Bilbo out of the elements. Somewhere warm and dry. Erebor would be the preferred option, but Dwalin knew it was too far. It would have to be Dale. Someone would have a dry blanket there and let him sit near a fire, surely, for her sake.

He forced himself into a slow jog. His body was screaming in agony but he determinedly ground his teeth. He would not falter now. Bilbo needed to survive this. He had to safe her. He could not fail her again, after this whole fucking disaster with the Arkenstone. He knew he would carve out his own heart if she did not make it through this.

Dwalin barely made it to the plain when the blonde elf was there again, the redhead guard and Kili in tow, thank Mahal. The lad looked pale and he was wounded, too, judging by the blood and the way he held himself, especially his bow arm, but he was on his feet and walking on his own.

“Dwalin,” Kili said hoarsely, taking in Dwalin’s half-naked and drenched state and the hobbit’s slim body wrapped in Fili’s bloody tunic in his arms, her hair dripping. “Bilbo. Is she ...?”

But Dwalin had no time nor energy for talk. He already had turned away to continue on his path to Dale when the blonde tree-shagger lead over a horse. Mahal, he could have kissed that elf, not that he would ever tell anybody.

The blonde elf gestured for Dwalin to mount it.

Reluctantly Dwalin briefly handed the hobbit to the Redhead and heaved himself gracelessly into the saddle of the nervously prancing beast. Dwarrow and horses were not an elegant pairing, but Dwalin would have mounted a fairy if it would bring Bilbo somewhere safe.

“Give her to me,” he ordered roughly when the Redhead didn’t move fast enough for his liking. She promptly scowled but she did lift Bilbo up and into Dwalin’s arms. He cradled the small body to his chest carefully. Her head lolled against his shoulder and she whimpered incoherently.

The blonde elf took the horse’s reigns and spoke to it softly, bringing it to a slow trot. Dwalin was an accomplished rider on a pony, a reasonable rider on a war ram, but he was an utter fool on a horse on any given day, and now, with his hands numb and his teeth chattering he had trouble holding on to Bilbo and lead the horse at the same time. The elf seemed to understand this without a word and jogged next to the horse, keeping up with its pace easily it seemed, holding the reigns and directing them to the side of Dale. Dwalin was about to protest when he saw the row of tents and the banner of Mirkwood fluttering in the wind above them. Part of him loathed coming here, anywhere near their wood sprite of a King, but for Bilbo’s sake he would endure it: at present, more safety and care would be found here for the hobbit than anywhere else outside the mountain.

Coming to a halt at the first tent the blonde elf and some tree-shaggers in guard uniform immediately began jabbering away in Elvish. Dwalin didn’t care. His focus was on the limp and quivering hobbit in his arms.

“Come,” Blondie said and reached out to take Bilbo from him, jerking his chin to one of the tents. Dwalin eyed him suspiciously for a moment but then slid off the horse with as much grace as he could muster, his legs feeling funny after dangling uselessly from the side of the saddle that was not made for his size. It took him but a moment to ground himself, sensing the stone under his boots and he turned to take Bilbo back. He almost snatched her from the tall elf’s grasp and Dwalin was sure he growled deep in his throat, too, ignoring the elf’s raised eyebrow followed by a soft glimmer in his eyes as he watched the dwarf cradle the hobbit to his chest possessively.

Without further delay and a small smile on his lips the elf lead him to the tent and held the flap open for him, letting it fall close behind him once Dwalin was inside.

A quick glance around had him locate a few chairs and a table, and a man-sized cot and blankets at one side. He nearly ripped Fili’s now clammy and damp tunic off Bilbo’s frozen, limp body, roughly rubbing it over her still dripping hair. He had not allowed himself to look before, but now that they were alone he noticed with distant curiosity that her nether curls were not honey blonde, but dark. He also noticed with faint amusement that this was the first time since the Shire that being in her proximity didn’t have blood rush into his dwarfhood. Instead, when he took in her grey skin and her purple lips it sucked the breath right out of his aching chest. Laying her naked body gently on the mattress he covered her with several blankets before sitting down to unlace his boots with numb fingers. He startled when the tent flap was pushed back and the wizard stormed in.

“What happened to her?”

Dwalin gave him a look that conveyed he didn’t appreciate the accusing tone but had neither time nor energy to be making a fuss about it just now. The cold from the icy water seemed to have entered his very veins and pervaded all of his senses. He clumsily managed to kick off his boots and socks, pulled down his wet pants and unders, and climbed under the furs and blankets, naked as he was, carefully pulling the equally naked and whimpering Bilbo into his arms.

The wizard huffed. “What you’re doing is not very appropriate, Master Dwalin,” he remarked with an air of propriety which was utterly misplaced in the current circumstances.

“Fuck off, Tharkûn,” was all Dwalin could muster in response between clattering teeth before closing his eyes and burying his face into Bilbo’s damp curls. She smelled like rose water and lavender soap. How she could was a mystery to Dwalin, when neither of them had been able to have a hot bath for weeks, not since Laketown really. Her scent was distinctly her however, familiar and comforting.

Dwalin shuddered. He was cold, so bitterly cold, but already he could feel the thick blankets beginning to warm in a cocoon of body heat as Dwalin’s dwarven furnace heart steadily pumped his hot blood through his veins. The icy grip around his chest already began to lessen somewhat and a tingling in his fingers told him that he would be alright. He sighed, silently thanking his Maker that he would lose neither his fingers to frost bite, nor his toes ... and since he was missing half an ear already he’d hopefully keep the other one intact. Ignoring the touch of a gnarled hand on his forehead and the mumbled words of the wizard he focused on the violently shaking hobbit in his arms and the feel of her soft skin under his rough hands. For what seemed like ages he held her and stroked her icy skin as far as he could reach in an effort to warm her, mumbling comforting words into her hair. It took a painfully long, long time, but eventually her teeth seized their chattering and the pitiful whimpers subsided. Just before he finally let himself be pulled under by exhaustion he gave himself a moment to indulge in the feel of her soft breasts pressed against his broad chest, her nipples pebbled into stiff peaks from the cold - or maybe from his rough hands stroking her skin. Breathing in deeply he fell asleep with the scent of rose and lavender in his nose. It was a blissful kind of hell.

When Dwalin woke it was dark outside, but the tent was lit by the merry fire of a brazier at the foot end of the cot. He felt warm and comfortable.

He looked at Bilbo in his arms. He was lying on his side and her head rested on his bicep, using him like a pillow. Her round, delicate face was peaceful and the honey-gold tips of her long eyelashes shone in the orange glow of the flames. He moved back a bit to be able to take in her sight fully. The grey pallor of her skin was gone; her slightly parted lips were the colour of ripe cherries as they should be and the skin of her face and slender shoulders was rosy once more. When he glanced down he could just make out the plump, sweet swell of her generous bosom pressed snugly against his chest.

It was a strange feeling to be so close to a lass without being expected to immediately roll her onto her back and pound into her. Thinking hard Dwalin could not recall ever having simply _slept_ with a lass. He would always be expected to show all his strength with them, and as they used him he would use them to find a quick release and he would be on his way immediately after.

This, this was different.

This was special.

Because Bilbo was special.

Embracing the sweet warmth of the hobbit in his arms made him feel utterly boneless and content, and he allowed sleep to touch his eyelids once more.

When he awoke again it was to his dwarfhood up and pulsing with need, demanding attention.

At some time during his sleep he must have thrown a heavy thigh over her hips, trapping his cock between their bodies against her stomach, enticingly close to her nether curls. There was no way he could ignore the soft curves pressed against him now, and he couldn’t grab himself to give a good tug or two without moving. And moving might wake her. Then again, Dwalin thought, he probably _should_ move, because their position was most certainly entirely improper and the last thing he wanted was for her to think that he would take advantage. She did almost die not too long ago after all. Twice.

He shifted carefully to look at her but her face was buried in his beard over his chest and one arm was wrapped around his torso.

All he could see was a dainty, pointed ear amongst honey-golden curls.

A twitching ear.


	3. Hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Squeak **

When her hand slowly and very deliberately stroked from between his shoulder blades down his spine he froze. Bilbo was _awake_ and no doubt aware of his ... situation. It was kind of impossible to ignore, after all, pressing hot and hard and very insistently against her skin.

He sucked in a breath and made to remove his leg.

“No,” she mumbled and he could feel her breath against his beard. It gave him goosebumps and he involuntarily shivered.

Her hand moved to his thigh as if to hold him in place - not that her small hand could in any way wrap around his muscled upper leg - and she leaned back to look at him.

He stared into her hazel eyes, momentarily lost in the emerald freckles that speckled them.

She met his gaze, unafraid and with a rather determined set of her chin.

Dwalin raised an eyebrow. “No?”

Bilbo shook her head a little and an unruly curl fell over her eye. She tried to blink it away and huffed at it with the cutest little annoyed wrinkle of her nose but she didn’t remove her hand from his thigh.

Dwalin couldn’t hold back a chuckle and reached up to tuck the curl behind her ear. Which twitched again when he touched it, and she shivered, blushing immediately in obvious embarrassment. His curiosity awakened Dwalin ran a blunt finger over the pointed arch. Bilbo’s eyes fluttered shut and she moaned throatily at the touch, blushing even more.

His cock twitched.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, her face alight with an expression of naked desire.

Her proximity was maddening. Her _ears_ ...

The whole situation was maddening.

“This is madness,” he growled out loud.

“It’s not a bad thing to be a little mad,” she breathed and lifted her face up to briefly press her plush lips against his.

_Mahal_.

Shaking his head he tried to shift back but she followed him, her expression one of barely hidden want and steely resolve. “We’ve done plenty mad things during the quest, why stop now, when it’s for once a good kind of madness? You and I, we’re here now, so why not?”

He huffed. “Because.”

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Because you should have a handsome, young fellow, with a soul as unblemished as your skin. I am not that fellow.”

She snorted. “Thank Yavanna for that! I’ve had plenty of handsome, young fellows chase after me in the Shire. Apart from the fact that they were all mainly after my money they were also all ... boring. My whole life in the Shire was dull and boring, with nothing of interest other than my books and my garden. Nothing than gossip and pretenses. But you ...” her hand let go of his thigh and she ran the flat of her palm up his body until she could cup his bearded cheek, “... you are earnest, intense and strong. A good, fierce dwarf. And you saved my life. For which I thank you. Very much.”

Dwalin swallowed hard. Her thumb rubbed against the beard just to the side of his mouth and the sensation of it gave him trouble thinking straight. “You’re welcome. And there’s no need to thank me with more than words.” He meant it. He did want her to feel obligated. Because that’s what it must be, right? Dams never were interested in him other than for a rough tumble and certainly sex had never gone hand in hand with intimacy. It ever had only been a means to a moment of oblivion with something that wasn’t his own calloused fist. This was too ... gentle, too profoundly personal. He had no experience with _this_. It made him feel uncomfortable. It made him feel vulnerable.

It _scared_ him.

“You make it sound like I’m some sort of strumpet, offering myself to you out of gratitude.” There was amusement in her voice, but an offended undertone, too.

He growled. “I would never call you that and if anyone else was I’d knock out their teeth.” It came out more ferocious than he had intended.

She smiled brightly at that regardless. It lit up the tent, that smile, more than the fire in the brazier ever could. But Dwalin watched with concern when the smile was followed by a cloud of worry and hurt ghosting over her face. “I have been the burglar but I ended up the thief and a rat ...”

Dwalin immediately shook his head vehemently in protest. “Thorin was way out of line when he said that-“

“... and I have been banished from Erebor under pain of death.” There was anguish in the depths of her hazel eyes now.

He covered her hand on his face with his in an attempt to soothe her. “Thorin was in the grip of the gold sickness, you know that. The moment he managed to shake it his mind became clear once more. I know he regrets his words and his deeds at the ramparts deeply. We all do. There is no banishment.” He couldn’t help himself and lifted her hand to press a kiss into her soft palm. “The king will gladly welcome you to the Kingdom Under the Mountain.”

She smiled at him. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“Will you welcome me in the Kingdom Under the Mountain? And in your bed? In your life? Or will you be like you were at the beginning of the quest, all grumpy and distant, when I know full well you’ve been just about as drawn to me as I have been to you?”

Dwalin’s breath caught in his throat at that ... what? Declaration? _Accusation_?

He frowned. “Why? I mean, my bed, I can understand that. When I was younger dams always wanted me to share their bed, they liked my strength, but they were just as glad to see me leave come morning, although it’s been a long time since any showed interest, gnarled and rough as I am. But I am not a dwarf for life. Why would someone like you want to be in my life?”

For a moment there was sadness in her eyes, but then she wriggled - which made him groan internally at the feeling of her body rubbing against him - until she could wrap her arm around his neck. Her hand buried itself into the thick hair at the back of his head and she pressed her forehead against his. She held him like this and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. It was such a tender gesture, yet at the same utterly possessive. That and the depth of affection in her expression made his eyes weld up against his will.

Bilbo smiled softly. “All these silly dams don’t know how to recognize a treasure when it’s right in front of them. Seems it will take a hobbit to teach them the meaning of it. Who would have thought?” She pecked a kiss to the tip of his nose and he blinked, astonished, unable to stop a huff of a laugh. “I want to be in your life because, my big, gruff dwarf, you are lovely.”

He was rendered speechless and could think of nothing to respond to that. _Lovely_. Nobody had ever called him _lovely_. Mahal, he himself had never thought himself _lovely_. He was a warrior, a killer in the service of the king. Killers were not _lovely_. But the hobbit in his arms was not the kind of person to say things she didn’t mean, Dwalin had very well learned that about her. And as she looked at him now with a soft smile there was nothing but truth in her beautiful eyes. Which meant she truly thought _lovely_ was the sort of adjective that was fitting to describe him.

Dwalin’s mind went completely blank when Bilbo kissed his mouth softly, and he closed his eyes. Here he was with Bilbo Baggins’ lush lips pressed against his. No one had ever kissed him like this, with so much tenderness. Her lips moved over his and the hand in the thick hair at his neck began toying with the strands. It was so thoroughly distracting that he gasped when her tongue came out to taste his lips. She took the opportunity to kiss him most insistently, delving deep into his mouth with her sweet, hot tongue, until he was sure he was going mad.

Dwalin couldn’t help the low hum that resonated from deep in his body. His cock was painfully hard now and he knew he was leaking. A part of him wanted to grab her hips and throw her on her back and pound into her until he made her come and found his own release. But the other part, the stronger part, wanted her to continue caressing him. He had never been touched like this. And he had never bedded anyone he had truly cared about. And he certainly had never _been_ _bedded_ by anyone who seemed to truly care about him.

Bilbo seemed to care. She had called him a treasure. And said he was _lovely._

He did not have it in him to scoff at her words, nor to dismiss her affections.

The hobbit continued to kiss him. She swirled her hips a little against him, his thigh still thrown over her legs. The movement made his rockhard dwarfhood rub against her skin and he could feel the hair of her curls brush against his stomach.

He moaned into her mouth and one hand went to palm her perfect breast, thumbing the hardened nipple, the other buried into her thick hair and held her face close. Her thighs twitched and he could feel her trying to get some friction at the junction of her legs, where her little nub no doubt was swollen and demanding attention.

He was _lost_, lost in the sensation of her body against him.

Suddenly her hand moved from his neck and she pushed against his broad chest, indicating she wanted him to roll on his back. He obliged without taking his hands off her. She climbed on top of him and straddled his hips, breaking their kiss, and let her lips wander down over the beard on his neck and across his chest instead. Toying first with one nipple, then with the other, circling them with her tongue and nibbling at them carefully with her teeth, she eventually sat up and combed her hands first through his thick chest hair and then through his beard.

“By Yavanna, Dwalin you are gorgeous, truly” she whispered in awe, her small hands continuing to map out his chest and arms and stomach, her fingers dancing over the veins in the bulging muscles of his biceps and downs the ripple of his hard abs, tracing the tattoos inked into his skin. Nobody had ever so openly explored his body. If he felt the tiniest bit guarded the look of open admiration and utter bliss on her face broke that guard; in fact, that she so obviously enjoyed touching him, scars and all, left him all gooey inside.

A curious finger lazily circled through the thick pelt around his navel before moving lower still. Even though he knew it was happening Dwalin chocked on a gasp and nearly arched off the bed when Bilbo took a hold of his cock. The sensation of her small, eager hands had his whole body shudder, but his words from before still echoed in his ears.

_This is a dream_, he thought, _for it cannot be real. _

He had long accepted that there would be no happy ending for him. That his life would only ever consist of toil and hardship, of blood and battle, that it would be impossible for him to find happiness, or love. But wait, didn’t they just reclaim Erebor? That, too, had been an impossible thing. Maybe impossible was possible after all.

Maybe this truly was no cruel joke.

Even if it was beyond comprehension.

That his heart, which was as bruised and battered as his body, would be allowed to love, and be loved in return.

Her breasts rubbed against his chest in the sweetest torture and she pressed down on him again, rubbing her clit against his coarse hair and brushing her hot wetness along his hardness.

Dwalin felt breathless and dizzy. He heard himself moan her name and she immediately bent her head to capture his lips again. Her messy curls hung around them like a curtain and she ground herself into him while she kissed him greedily, the palms of her small hands cupping his bearded cheeks, holding him close. Dwalin completely forgot that he should worry about the scar on his face, or his missing ear, or his rough fingers that dug into the soft flesh of her thighs.

Bilbo left no doubt what she wanted but it amazed Dwalin that she would take the time to take care of him, to caress him. This was turning out to be so much more than just getting the quick release he was used to, but he very willingly submitted to her exploration of his mouth.

“Mahal, Bilbo,” he groaned when he couldn’t take it anymore, breaking the kiss to gasp for air while his broad hands reached up to trail over her shoulders and back until they firmly settled on her bottom cheeks.

Bilbo’s pupils were dilated with arousal that there was barely any hazel left in her eyes, but a soft smile played around her lips. “I really want you inside now, Dwalin,” she whispered and rose to her knees, bracing herself over his cock and positioning him at her entrance. He could feel her: wet and hot and so ready for him.

The very thought of her hot wetness around him was almost enough to send him over the edge without ever making it inside her. “Mahal, Bilbo,” he growled, a little desperate, “I don’t think I’ll last long.”

Bilbo huffed a little laugh, throaty and low. “Neither will I.” And she slowly sunk down on him.

She took her time, eyes closed and breathing deeply, and when he was finally fully sheathed in her Dwalin was panting, his large hands holding on to her curvy hips for dear life; he had to forcefully remind himself to gentle his strong grip.

Dwalin already saw white at the edge of his vision before Bilbo even began moving. First she cautiously rolled her hips a few times, but soon she rocked in a steady rhythm that make her generous bosom sway and her curls bounce. She looked absolutely divine. When her pace increased and she licked her parted lips, holding his gaze with a soft smile and a look of utter adoration on her face, Dwalin’s heart burst.

“I love you, Bilbo,” he croaked, his body started shaking and he thrust up into her, nearly unseating her, but her hands gripped his strong arms to steady herself for a few more bounces while he wrenched her back down, plunging her cunt on his cock. Bilbo screwed her eyes shut and sucked in a breath. Then a shudder went through her body. Her spine arched sharply and she threw her head back and _moaned_ long and throaty, her insides convulsing and tightening around his twitching, pulsing dwarfhood. She held him inside her and he felt like she would not ever let him go.

Blinding white took over his vision until he saw no more.


	4. Hotter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the lovely readers that left kudos and comments, you make my day :) Now let’s all step back into the ice box for the next hot chapter ;)  
There will be six chapters btw - apparently I can't count ...

When the muted colours of the fire-lit tent slowly began bleeding into his vision again Dwalin found himself on his back, covered by a blanket, with Bilbo propped up on one elbow and leaning over him and her gentle fingers stroking his face and beard. 

He watched the dreamy smile dance across her kiss-swollen lips and the mischievous sparkle in the emerald freckles of her hazel eyes. It was a most peculiar combination of colours and expressions and it distracted him for a while. 

Then he blinked. 

Mahal, had he passed out? 

As if reading his thoughts she leaned down to kiss him softly. “You are well,” she mumbled against his lips. “I am well. And you are not only lovely, but also a very wonderful, very satisfying dwarf. And I love you, too.”

So he did pass out. 

Mahal, wait, _satisfying_?

And she loved him, too?

He looked at her, his hand reaching up to weave his thick fingers through a handful of honey-golden curls. “Will you stay with me? In Erebor?” he blurted out, frowning deeply when he realized he sounded like a needy dwarfling. But he had to ask. How could he be without her now, after this?

Her laughter was bright and clear as silver bells. “I will, if you’ll have me. I mean, you might change your mind once the mountain fills with your people once more ...” She trailed off, and despite her laughter there was a soft, hesitant tone in her voice and he hurried to shake his head. “There is none that could ever take your place, Bilbo Baggins, never has been. I love you.”

It felt good to say it again, Mahal, it truly did. 

She smiled prettily and bussed his bearded cheek. “And I you.” She shivered and he frowned, immediately concerned. “Are you cold?” He reached for the blanket and drew it up and over her naked shoulders. 

“A little, but nothing like before. Because you saved me.”

“Aye.” He remembered suddenly that she nearly died and he shifted so he lay on his side, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her snug against his body. 

“You are so warm,” she murmured contently as they lay with their faces inches apart. 

His hand trailed down her lower back, idly stroking the soft swell of her bottom with his fingers. “Mahal has made our bodies sturdy. But even I was cold, before.” He couldn’t help but ask her. “Would you love me less if I were missing a couple of toes?”

Bilbo snorted. “I don’t’ care about your toes. However, there are other body parts I’d be more concerned about.” She winked at him cheekily, making him chortle. _That lass!_ Shuffling a bit her fingers wound in his beard. A small cough shook her unexpectedly and she winced, reaching for her throat before thinking better of it and dropping her hand back into his beard. 

They looked at each other silently for a moment before she dropped her gaze, suddenly pensive. 

Dwalin brought his hand back from her behind and gripped her chin gently to tilt her head back slightly, looking at her slender neck. The bruise from Thorin’s hand was an ugly array of black, blue and purple. He sighed. “I’ll not forgive myself for not stopping him, Bilbo. And I’ll not forgive myself that you were exposed to a battle field. It’s no place for a hobbit. I swear to you, Bilbo, that I’ll not let-“

She hushed him with a kiss. “I know,” she mumbled against his lips and brought her arm around his torso, her small hand rubbing soothing circles at his broad back. 

She should let him speak. He did mean every word. But even if she didn’t let him say his oath out loud Dwalin knew he would not leave the hobbit’s side again: she chose him and he’d be hers till the end of his days. Dwalin closed his eyes and leaned down to press a kiss into her curls, again accidentally brushing over her ear with his mouth. She shivered and he felt her nipples harden.

Moving back a bit he looked at her, cocking an eyebrow. “So what’s it with the ears?”

She blushed and grimaced, a little embarrassed. “Hobbit ears ... they’re ... sensitive.”

Dwalin fought a grin. _Indeed_. Still, he couldn’t help tease her a little, playing dumb. “Sensitive ... as in?”

She huffed. “They’re ... erogenous. Very. I can’t help it when you-ahh!”

Dwalin certainly couldn’t resist but confirm her explanation with a teasing flick of his tongue over that very sensitive, pointy arch of her ear, making her moan and her fingers dig into the muscles of his back involuntarily.

He had not thought it possible after his recent release but his dwarfhood seemed to happily consider a second round. When he looked down at her to gauge her reaction at the feeling of his rising hardness against her thigh he saw with surprise and quite some satisfaction that her pupils were diluted once more. Her small hand was still grabbing at him and when he leaned down to nib at the pointed arch of her ear a tremble went through her body and she arched into him, mewling softly.

Leaning back he searched her face. Not sure if a repeat coupling would be appreciated so soon after their first one, erogenous ears or not, Dwalin felt unsure of how to ask. “Would you ...” He cleared his throat and frowned, feeling awkward and a bit annoyed with himself. He was not a dwarfling, for Mahal’s sake! “Can we-”

“Oh, I insist we do,” the hobbit said simply and rolled on her back, determined hands pulling him with her until he lay in the cradle of her thighs; his bulk fitting in the space like it was made for him, although he held his weight up on his elbows, caging her small body underneath him. Dwalin squeezed his eyes shut, momentarily struggling as his brain seemed to stop functioning. 

Bilbo tilted her lips a little to get some friction against her nub. He could feel her already hot and wet and ready for him. 

“Mahal, Bilbo,” he groaned, burying his face in her neck. 

“I love you, Dwalin,” she whispered and her hands roamed his back, stroking, squeezing, rubbing. “Make love to me, my gorgeous dwarf.”

Feeling a little lightheaded he lifted his head to look at her. “You sure? We just ... I don’t want to hurt you.”

She laughed at him. _Laughed at him!_ “I am sure. Very sure indeed.” Dwalin stared at her lush lips, parted in a wide smile, mesmerized. Her hand slid between their bodies to tug at his beard. “I am a hobbit, Master Dwarf. Now, I do not know how it is for dwarrowdams, but hobbit lasses have a lot of needs and desires. And as I am well aware of all the confrontations and duties and responsibilities that no doubt await us once we leave this tent I very much mean to take advantage of every moment I have you alone and naked.” Tugging on his beard rather tenaciously she pulled him down for a kiss. Tongue darting forward to lick his lips lasciviously she kept her mouth close to his and mumbled. “And now, my lovely dwarf, please proceed.” And she tilted her hips up once more as if to emphasize her point, her nether curls rubbing against his stomach.

Dwalin couldn’t suppress a groan and a snort. “Needs and desires?”

She grinned at him, unabashed. “The Green Lady, who has made hobbits, is the Giver of Fruit, including the sweet fruits of lovemaking. And as She loves Mahal, I intend to love you. And as He no doubt has nothing to complain about regarding fulfilment in His bond, neither will you. Now come, make my body sing.” 

Dwalin’s blood roared in his ears at that explanation and _command_ and he surged forward to capture her lips. It was his turn to kiss her most insistently, nibbling on her and parting her cherry-red sweetness to take their kissing to something hot and heated.

When he had to retreat after a while to gasp for breath, Dwalin suddenly felt the urgent need to explore more of Bilbo’s body. He rose up on his knees and slid the palms of his rough hands along her soft, voluptuous curves and down her ribcage all the way to her flat stomach. Dwalin didn’t much like that he could count each and every rip and that her stomach was not only flat but even slightly indented. _Not as a hobbit’s stomach should be_, he though, vowing silently to make it his first mission once they left this bed to find food for her. He rubbed his hands over her hips and then back up to cup her generous breasts. He watched her arch into his grasp when his thumbs rubbed over her already peaked and sensitive nipples. Their eyes met. Desire shone unconcealed in the hazel depths and the emerald freckles seemed to dance with arousal. 

Dwalin shuddered and felt like every corner of his body and soul was melting like a blob of zinc over the simple flame of a candle. His very veins were on fire. He placed his palms on the cot either side of her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her again, before letting his mouth trail down her jaw and her bruised throat. He nibbled at her collarbone and licked his way to her breasts, sucking a rosy nipple into his mouth. Bilbo’s breath hitched as he lavished first one, then the other pert little bud with his attention. 

When he licked over the soft skin in the valley between her luscious, lovely breasts, blushed red from the scrape of his beard, Bilbo purred and a quiver went through her whole body. 

_ Mahal, she is so responsive! _ And in turn he found himself so utterly responsive to her every reaction. 

Not that he would ever admit to it, but in his youth in Erebor he had indulged in reading the romantic poetry of his people. Of longing suits, ardent courtships, encompassing love and passion, and the fulfilment both could bring to a couple. For a long time he had nursed a hope deep in his heart that this kind of relationship would be one for him, one day. When the dragon came that hope was buried under grief and pain, and under despair and agony after Azanulbizar. And in all the many years that followed he had never dared to uncover that hope once more, not that there had been anyone who even remotely had touched his heart. Until now. The hobbit had managed to lay him bare and awaken his longing for love once more. She _wanted_ him. Aye, he would give himself to her, body and soul. 

When her hands toyed with his chest hair and then moved to cup his arse, spreading her legs even wider in a clear invitation, all his blood rushed south, leaving his brain dizzy. 

He shifted until he could carefully ease himself into her.

Her lower lips enveloped his cock with hot wetness, nearly bringing him to the brink way too early. _Mahal, she could drown an orc!_

Gritting his teeth, Dwalin lifted himself up, leaning his weight on one hand, the other snug under her shoulder and dug itself into her hair, holding her in place as he began to move. 

He began a slow pace, but soon he sped up, Bilbo clinging to him as he drove into her. 

Her little moans and gasps turned into breathless yelps and mewls, increasing in volume and intensity as he increased the pace of his dwarfhood sliding into her delicious heat. 

His balls began to tingle and shivers danced across his body, but he growled into the hollow of her neck determinedly and bent down to suck on her breast. 

Bilbo’s insides tightened and when he looked up her head was thrown back and every muscle in her bowed with her beginning orgasm. Utter ecstasy flitted across her face, before she yelled his name into the stillness of the tent, convulsing around him as she came apart.

Overwhelming pleasure had his hips stutter and his cock twitched and jerked as he released deep inside her with a hoarse bellow. 

He held himself on his elbows and continued moving slowly until both their aftershocks had passed and their bodies had calmed down once more. Then he slid out of her and rolled on his back with a deep sigh, taking her with him and cradling her against his body. 

“I love you,” he whispered, utterly spent. 

She pressed a kiss on his bare shoulder in response before her head fell snugly against his broad chest and within moments her breaths became deep and even as slumber pulled her under. Dwalin followed her soon, sated lassitude weighing him down like a mountain and his heart calm and at peace.

When he woke again the brazier was cold and the early light of a golden sunrise lit the tent instead. Dwalin stretched and tightened his hold on the hobbit in his arms, running a broad hand slowly down her spine in a caress. 

It was time to face the day and the world. 


	5. Face the World

Dwalin still didn’t know whether his brother was alright, after the battle, or the others from the Company. And it would not do to remain here, in the tent, any longer, despite his happiness with Bilbo, when there had been so much carnage out there, as it was want to be during a battle. Dwalin also wanted to take his hobbit and tell the world about their love and he wanted to find a bead to weave it into her hair and make it clear to all that she was loved and that he was hers.

“Dwalin,” she mumbled sleepily and stirred.

“Aye, Amrâlimê.” He kissed her softly. “It is morning and we should get up and see to the others. And find some food for you. And clothes.” He well remembered how he could count the ribs under her skin and he could hardly let her get out there in Fili’s bloody tunic. But his concern was unfounded, as he discovered when he managed to detangle himself from the blankets and Bilbo’s embrace - the latter far harder than the former - because a well-meaning soul had left clean clothing and even a tray with some hard cheese, bread, dried fruits, nuts and a jug with watered down ale.

They ate while getting dressed. Bilbo was ravenous and he insisted on her having his portion of dried fruits and an extra bite of cheese as well. He would have given her more but she would have none of it, shoving the bites into his mouth, followed by a sweet kiss to his bearded cheek. Then she tied the laces of his tunic and while he sat down to slide his feet into his dry socks and lace his boots she combed at his hair and beard with her fingers, to make him more presentable possibly, not that it mattered to him, but the fact that she doted on him in that way warmed his heart. In turn he helped her in trousers that likely were made for a Mannish child, and a tunic that could have been that of a dwarfling. The coat, however, was new, of thick, soft wool in Durin blue and with golden toggles to close it; Dori’s work, no doubt, altered from an already existing dwarrow coat, maybe even of Thorin or Frerin when they were much younger. It suited her and Dwalin tried in vain to tame her curls, a rather hopeless undertaking without a comb and hair oil, but he did his best. When he tied the thin leather belt around her waist her face fell.

“What is it, Nungel?” he asked, concerned.

“Sting,” she said with a dismayed grimace and he frowned. _Sting?_

“My ... my sword,” she stammered, “And my ... the ...” She paled, eyes wide and a breath hitched in her throat.

“Your sword?” Then it came to him. She had held her letter opener when the ice broke. After she had sliced into Azog she must have dropped it when she went under. And her ... what?

He nudged her gently. “Your sword and what, Bilbo?”

Bilbo stared at him, looking forlorn. “My ring. The ring I found in the goblin tunnels.” She blinked and looked down at her hand, all fingers bare.

The goblin tunnels? Aye, he was yet to hear the full extent of what had happened to her there when she was separated from them. He always had a feeling that there was more going on than her ‘just falling and then feeling her way out of the darkness’. But not now. He reached out and took her small hand into his large, calloused one. “You won’t be needing a sword ever again, Amrâlimê. I’ll make you a few fine knives you can hide in your clothes, and that’s about all you’ll ever need from now on. And your ring ...” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it fervently. “I know the treasure means little to you but rest assured I will craft you whatever ring or jewelry you wish for, and it will be my pleasure and my honour.”

She hesitated and Dwalin wondered at the small frown on her face, but then she shook herself and nodded slowly. “It was but a trinket,” she said quietly, “A useful one, granted, but a trinket nonetheless. There is no need for it any more now, with the dragon dead, the battle won and Erebor under the control of the rightful king.” Taking his hand and pulling herself into his embrace she smiled up at him, reassured. “I shan’t miss my little trinket and I’ll gladly wear whatever you craft for me. I know it means a lot to you.”

Dwalin didn’t know why her trinket would have been ‘useful’ but he hummed nevertheless, pleased at her words. Aye, it did mean a lot to him. It had been a long time since he was able to craft something for the sheer pleasure of it without having to painstakingly save up on the materials. Those times were over. His hobbit would want for nothing until the end of her days.

He kissed her and lifted the tent flap for her to let her through. Outside they were greeted with the sight of Blondie, lounging in a chair with his feet up on a stool, twirling a goblet in his hand. “Good morning!” He grinned way too cheerfully. “I trust you found _some_ rest?”

Dwalin suppressed rolling his eyes at the obvious insinuation, but he could not suppress a growl when the leaf-eater took Bilbo’s offered hand in his. Bilbo huffed at him but she smiled fondly before addressing the elf. “Legolas, mellon nîn. I know you helped getting Dwalin and I to safety. And not only that, you also helped keeping Fíli and Kíli alive. Words cannot express how grateful I am for that.” And she bowed deeply, adding some more words in the Elf’s own gibberish language.

The golden moron looked stunned for a moment, followed by a suitable impressed expression, making Dwalin feel rather proud of his hobbit’s language skills. Frankly, he couldn’t wait to hear her speak Khuzdul. The very thought of kissing the harsh sounds of his language from her lips gave him goosebumps.

He felt her hand tugging on his sleeve, bringing him back from his reverie. Raising an eyebrow questioningly Bilbo rolled her eyes a little and gave a glare at him before tilting her head meaningfully into the Elf’s direction.

_Right_. Dwalin knew what was good and proper and he would not deny Blondie some well-earned words of gratitude. Meeting the twinkling eyes of the Elf, who didn’t even bother to hide his amused grin, he offered a bow his Adad would be proud of. “You have the thanks of Dwalin, son of Fundin, of the line of Durin, for providing your assistance in seeing my hobbit to safety and getting us both to shelter to recover from the effects of the freezing water.” Only once he was done speaking he realized what he called Bilbo. Blondie’s grin widened and Dwalin looked down at the lass beside him sheepishly, ready for a scolding. But Bilbo only slid her hand into his and beamed up at him. She obviously had no issue with being _his hobbit._

_All good then._

Dwalin cleared his throat. “We should be going,” he said, more to Bilbo than to the Elf. “To see if the others are all well.”

“They are,” Blondie interjected calmly. He gestured at their clothes when they both turned their attention at him. “Your brother ... Balin? ... was here to bring the clothes, together with ... Dori? They have assured me that all members of your Company are alive and reasonably unharmed. Worst off is, I believe, your King, with several broken rips and a knife wound through his foot. I was asked to pass on the message that you are both expected at his tent, as soon as you are able to.”

As relief flooded Dwalin he could feel Bilbo tense next to him. Aye, it did sound like a summoning, but Dwalin knew his brother and that was just how Balin would have phrased it in front of this Elf, who is neither a friend nor an enemy, retreating behind his diplomatic, courtish vernacular.

He gave another nod to Blondie and pulled Bilbo forward. “Thank you again.” They made a few steps when the Elf called out: “Mistress Hobbit!”

Turning they watched his expression somber. “If ever you need ... assistance again ... for whatever reason ... don’t hesitate to call upon me.” The ageless eyes went from Bilbo to Dwalin and the message in them as well as the meaning of his words were clear.

Possessiveness flared to life and Dwalin looked down at Bilbo, lifting her hand in his and placing it on his chest, over his heart, with a gentle squeeze. There would be no need for Bilbo needing lifesaving assistance any more after today. He’d see to that.

Her face split into a smile at his action. “Thank you, Legolas,” she told the Elf softly, pressing herself into Dwalin’s side, “But I am right where I mean to be.”

A pleased grunt escaped Dwalin at that and with another nod at the Elf they went on their way. Leaving the encampment of the leaf-eaters was a relief, especially since there was a distinct amused gleam on most of their faces, reminding Dwalin of their superior hearing and the sounds he and Bilbo likely made throughout the night. He fought down a blush - he was not ashamed after all – but Dwalin took it as a small mercy that they didn’t run into Thranduil. While his son was bearable, even more so from the gratitude he felt towards him for helping to save Bilbo, Dwalin knew he could not extend the same mellow feelings towards the Elfking.

Early morning chill covered the ground with a thin layer of frozen dew, melting into messy puddles of mud and blood where exposed to the pale sun. The stench of the battle still hung in the air and the noise of the carrion birds cut through the tired silence.

Victory.

In Dwalin’s experience it was never loud. Glorified stories would tell of immediate songs and raucous celebrations, but as far as Dwalin had seen the aftermath of any battle was quiet, filled with the moans of the injured and dying, the silence of grief and reflection and the immediate pressing matters of disposing of the bodies of ally and enemy alike, the logistics of surviving in the elements and the politics of those in charge. After a monumental battle such as this it would take days, if not weeks, for anyone to be in the mood for a proper celebration. Yet, knowing his King alive, and his brother, his kin and everyone from the Company certainly made for a lighter heart than he had known at the end of many other victorious battles, especially Azanulbizar. And the hobbit by his side ... well, to Dwalin his way forward was very clear.

However, upon venturing amongst the dwarrow tents, many of them showing Dain’s colours and sigils of the Iron Hills, Dwalin could not hold back a frown. In truth, before the quest the belief of the other dwarrow clans and the fellow Longbeards into Thorin and the line of Durin had been next to non-existent. Even Dain, blood of their blood, had not sent any support, not in warriors, arms or supplies. It had not been unexpected, but it had rankled nonetheless. It had left Thorin with no choice but to follow Tharkûn’s advice and set out with a small Company of relations, friends and assorted oddities to attempt the reclaiming of Erebor - or die trying. And true, without Dain’s troops they would not have won against the orcs. But had Dain come because it was Thorin who called or because the dragon was dead and Erebor reclaimed? Did he bring his warriors because he was ashamed of how little trust he had had in Thorin’s quest or because he wanted to be in place to make his mark on Erebor. As far as Dwalin was concerned Thorin’s right to rule was indisputable and those few that had followed his call, showing loyalty and honour beyond all others, were untouchable. Judging by the disapproving looks that were cast at the diminutive hobbit by his side, however, he realized that not all would see it the same way.

Despite her thick coat Dwalin felt Bilbo shiver next to him and he slung an arm around her, placing a possessive hand on her waist. She smiled up at him, but he could not miss the hints of anxiety on her face.

“All will be well, my Bilbo,” he muttered and lead her through the curiously staring throng of Dain’s soldiers. To his frustration he noticed that too many of those stares were not only not friendly, but even worse, there were a few rather hateful and disgusted looks as well and Dwalin did his best to level his most intimidating glare at the dwarrow daring at issuing those. His fingers itched to have his axes and he felt a vein swelling on his forehead as his ire began to simmer.

As they made their way through the dwarrow encampment towards the tent of the King, easily recognizable by the Durin blue flags fluttering in the chilly wind, Dwalin could feel Bilbo more and more shrinking into herself.

_She is afraid_.

That would not do.

“The dwarf that would dare challenge me has not yet been born, Amrâlimê,” he told her firmly. “None will touch you. And the King will not tolerate disrespect against a member of his Company. Especially not against you.”

She shot him a wary smile, the doubt clear on her face.

Dwalin sighed. Aye, it would take some time to rebuild her trust in Thorin. But she could put her trust into him. “Yours is the name carved into my heart until the end of all days, Bilbo Baggins,” he said, very seriously. “On my life, none will dare question my allegiance when they learn you have declared your love for me.”

Now she beamed up at him, her eyes warm and her smile glowing. _Much better. _

Grinning at her in return he focused on their way once more. Only to be faced with one of Dain’s personal guard who stood in front of Thorin’s tent with a grim, determined face.

“Who goes there?” he snarled, his eyes sliding from him to the hobbit with a most unfriendly glare.

Dwalin bristled. “You dare ask that question in that tone and stand in my way when two of the King’s most trusted companions return after the battle?” he growled right back. “Remove yourself from my sight, soldier, or face dire consequences!”

The guard lifted his chin and gripped his spear tight in response. Dwalin’s anger surged and he balled his fists, moving slightly in front of the hobbit, determined to smash this dwarf into the ground.

“Oh, goodie,” Bilbo muttered under her breath behind him.

Dwalin was about to show that brainless boulder what it meant to show disrespect in the presence of a son of Fundin, and a superior officer at that, when small fingers touched his fist and slid into his palm as he marginally loosened his grip. Her touch was comforting and immediately soothed him. His anger dissipated enough to face the guard somewhat calmly: “Announce the presence of Dwalin, son of Fundin, and the most honourable Miss Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. The King awaits us.”

Being given a direct order the guard could not refuse and was just about to step through the tent flap with a face that could sour even the moldy cheese from Bilbo’s pantry when it was flung open and Balin emerged, followed by Bifur. “Brother!” he exclaimed. “I thought I heard your dulcet tones.” He smiled wryly and winked at Bilbo who grinned up at Dwalin, squeezing his hand.

Bifur lay a gentle hand on her shoulder and rumbled something with a pleased smile on his face (“He’s glad you’re alive and well,” Dwalin translated automatically, adding “And he says that it’s good to see you glowing with satisfaction” with a blush.). Bilbo stretched up to give Bifur a one-armed hug, never relinquishing her hold on Dwalin’s hand. “You lost your axe,” she remarked, amazed, and cautiously touched the old dwarf’s forehead, where only a red, angry, welded scar reminded of the weapon that had been buried there for nearly a century.

“Aye, I did, it’s in a troll’s head now,” Bifur said and Dwalin translated, shaking his head together with Bilbo in astonishment and joy for their friend.

Then Dwalin turned towards Balin. “Brother,” he said, his tone conveying more how glad he was to see them both alive after yet another battle that would mark the pages of Arda’s history books than any words ever could.

“Aye,” Balin responded, understanding immediately and sharing the sentiment, before knocking foreheads with his younger brother and clapping him on the shoulder fondly. Then he turned to Bilbo. “Lass, it does my old eyes good to see you well. I understand it was dire for a while?”

“Yes,” the hobbit whispered, shuddering at the memory of the icy water and Dwalin didn’t want to be reminded of her grey skin and violent shivers any more than she did. But then she smiled and pressed herself into Dwalin’s side, the fingers of her free hand curling into his arm. “Dwalin saved me,” she said simply, her voice full of awe, admiration and love.

“So I’ve heard,” Balin said seriously, obviously having been told by Thorin and Fili what had happened, “And I am very glad he did.”

“Thank you for organizing clothes and food,” the hobbit added, ever the well-mannered lass.

Balin bobbed his head and his eyes twinkled. “You are welcome. But come inside now.” He straightened and faced Dain’s guard, who had followed the exchange with a most disgruntled expression. “You are dismissed. With the King’s Company complete and his sworn shield by his side once more he has no longer any need of additional protection. I’m sure your Lord will find another occupation for you.” The guard bristled at being binned off in such a manner but he wisely didn’t protest the order of the King’s Head Councilor. Instead, he saluted snappily and marched off with a clank and a distinctly huffy air.

“Bifur,” Balin said in a much friendlier tone, “If you could make sure we have a moment of privacy?”

As Bifur grunted his affirmative and took up position Dwalin followed his brother, gently tugging Bilbo along. Inside the tent were several cots and a second tent had been erected at the back of this one, their connecting walls tied up and out of the way, giving view to more cots crammed into the space, enough for the whole Company, but empty at present. Considering how they had camped during the quest, this was almost luxurious, Dwalin thought, even though privacy was once more non-existent, and with a sting he suddenly missed the seclusion he and Bilbo had been able to indulge in for the past night.

“Bilbo!” Dwalin’s eyes quickly found the speaker. Kili sat up in his cot in the front part of the tent with a wince, his chest bare and heavily bandaged, as well as his arm, which was in a splint. “Bilbo, I’m so glad you’re alright.” The raven prince bobbed his head along with his words for emphasis.

“Thank you, Kili,” the lass said and by the way she rolled on the balls of her feet Dwalin could tell how she fought the desire to dash forward and hug the young dwarf, choosing the safety of his hand before the joy of the reunion with the young raven. “I’m glad you’re alright as well. And Fili, too.”

The blonde heir smiled from on top of his own cot, right next to his brother. “You certainly look better than last I’ve seen you,” he said and gingerly swung his legs to the side of his cot and got to his feet with a wince. A few steps took him to Bilbo and he leaned in to hug her tightly. “Mahal, Bilbo, I couldn’t imagine living in Erebor if we had lost you.” The words were said quietly, but loud enough to ring resoundingly in the silent tent with the weight of their sincerity.

Bilbo gave another one-armed hug in return, and even though Dwalin loosened his grip on her hand, ready to let her go if she so wished, the hobbit did not seem to want to relinquish his hold, her fingers grabbing him tighter instead, showing she was still not at ease with being here, in the King’s tent.

When Fili straightened his blue eyes shone with emotion and he blinked a few times before managing to have his usual, dimpled smile back onto his face. “It’s been a few terrible weeks. After several terrible, eventful months. And I am thrilled to see you happy despite it all.” His blue eyes slid to Dwalin. “Even Gandalf could not have meddled any better to bring together two people that match so perfectly. I am very happy that you found each other.”

“Aye, finally!” Kili added cheerfully from the back. “All that pining ...” He trailed off and rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, and Fili nodded with a grin.

Dwalin felt himself bristle with indignation. He did not pine! But then he thought of all the times he kept himself physically well apart from Bilbo because his body reacted to her presence without him being able to restrain himself and of all the times he snuck a glance at her pretty face or her shapely curves when he thought no-one was looking - and he had to admit that had indeed been pining for the lass for many moons now. Sheepishly, he glanced down at her - only to look upon a distinct rosy blush on her cheeks - and her ears. _So she was pining for me, too, and all have noticed? _It filled Dwalin with great satisfaction to know it, even though he knew they both likely would have to endure the Company’s teasing for some time to come. He lifted their entwined hands and breathed several soft kisses on her knuckles, humming happily when she beamed up at him.

Fili nodded again, pleased, then he exchanged a glance with a chuckling Balin, who said: “Yes, the both of you deserve happiness, now that you found each other. And it will be even greater once certain things have been addressed.” Balin’s eyes were twinkling and Dwalin knew those ‘certain things’ were nothing bad, but Bilbo tensed once more at this side, shrinking into herself with worry.

Fíli noticed, too, and went to her other side, holding out his hand, palm up, wordlessly offering her his assistance and support. She took it, after a moment’s hesitation, and together they turned to face the cot in the center of the tent.

Thorin’s cot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, Bifur lost his axe, but I don’t think he’d regain his grasp of Westron quite as quickly. It’s been a long time speaking only Ancient Khuzdul after all.   
Alright, let’s get ready for snarky Dain in the next chapter. 
> 
> Amrâlimê – my love/love of mine  
Nungel - flower of all flowers   
mellon nîn - my friend 
> 
> If you’d like to submerge yourself in visuals, check out my pinterest page https://www.pinterest.com.au/cuptivate/


	6. Certain Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter. Very happy there’s still readers out there who enjoy exploring the mind of our favourite gruff warrior :) Thanks to everyone who read this One-Shot-gone-awry, leaving kudos and commenting. Means a lot xx

The King lay propped up on several pillows. He had been cleaned and his hair had been combed. Thick bandages went around his bare torso and a naked foot stuck out from under blankets, slightly elevated and also wrapped. His face was tired, with shadows under his eyes telling from his many sleepless nights and recent mental and physical ordeals. But where just days before blinded aggression and a crazed, almost feverish obsession had been written in every line, now were a peace and calm acceptance that Dwalin hadn’t seen there for nearly a century.

Thorin’s blue eyes settled on the both of them, resting briefly on Dwalin with a fond little curl at the corner of his mouth. Dwalin acknowledged it with a dip of his head, glad to see all signs of madness gone from those blue depths, before watching Thorin’s gaze move on to Bilbo, the King’s features twisting with remorse and contrition.

“Bilbo,” he began hoarsely, only to break off and squeeze his eyes shut with a shake of his head and a forceful, slow exhale.

“It’s fine, Thorin,” Bilbo spoke softly and why wasn’t Dwalin surprised? She was a gentle creature after all, emotions like hatred and resentment were foreign to her. Not that Dwalin would ever again mistake her gentleness for weakness. Bilbo Baggins had a spine of steel and a resolve as hard as granite, it easily rivalled that of any dwarf, and none that had experienced her during the quest could possibly think otherwise.

“It’s not,” the King growled, balling his fists in agitation. “It’s not _fine_, Bilbo. How can you say that, after everything I have done? Done to you? There is no excuse.” The King’s face was a study of self-loathing. “There is no apology I can make that could ever be enough. The amends of a lifetime-”

“Are you sorry?” the hobbit interrupted his laments. “Are you sorry you called me a grocer and insulted me in my home? Are you sorry you did nothing but scold and berate me for the first weeks of the quest? Are you sorry you called me a traitor and a rat and nearly killed me on the ramparts? Are you truly sorry? And not just out of gratitude. Not just because I saved your life, repeatedly, and Kili’s and Fili’s and that of everyone in the Company.” Her eyes were wide and sparkled with intensity and she spoke with much passion.

“Aye, I am,” the King said after a heartbeat, very sincerely, his head bowed humbly. “More than words can ever say.”

Bilbo nodded and gave a little half shrug. “Then we’re good. I don’t like holding grudges, especially now ...” Her hazel eyes blinked up at Dwalin and he remembered how her eye lashes had shone golden in the light of the brazier. “Death came too close. To me, to Dwalin, to you, to everyone in the Company, too many times. I want no more of that. I want to be happy. With Dwalin. In Erebor, if I’m allowed-“

“Of course you’re allowed to stay in Erebor, Bilbo,” Thorin interrupted, sounding almost exasperated. “Nothing would please me more. You are a part of our life, of our family. You mean the world to us-,” he huffed a little and rolled his eyes and interrupted himself with a smirk as Balin pointedly cleared his throat, “... yes, alright, maybe you mean a great deal more to _Dwalin_, but my point stands-“

Dwalin found himself grunt an agreement over Fili’s chuckles and Kili’s sniggers. Their lighthearted moment was interrupted by a commotion outside the tent. Bifur’s sharp voice could be heard, and the clang of weapons. Dwalin could easily make out Dain’s voice over a cacophony of others; his cousin always had a tendency to speak overly loud, and for all his accomplishments, talking at a normal level or even whispering were not things the Ironfoot was famous for.

Thorin, Balin and Dwalin shared a look. Dwalin tugged Bilbo slightly behind his bulk, squaring his stance and puffing up his chest. Fili followed suit, although with a little wince as the puffing up obviously didn’t do his many bruises too good.

Bilbo, sensing the impending confrontation, gripped Dwalin’s tunic at his back. He could feel her fingers slightly shaking as they clutched at the fabric.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Amrâlimê,” he mumbled over his shoulder, trying to calm her. “It’s just going to get loud until Dain’s blown off steam.” _Unless he is planning on usurping Thorin, but then we are all doomed anyway. _Once more, Dwalin longed for his axes.

Balin strode towards the tent flap. A moment later the Ironfoot barged in, followed by two dwarves in the uniforms of Iron Hills generals. There were still grumbles outside, obviously Bifur deemed three enough to enter the King’s tent and refused access to the rest of Dain’s immediate entourage.

“It’s true then,” the Ironfoot boomed as his eyes scanned the tent, swiftly found the figure of Bilbo peering out behind Dwalin and settled on her with a glare, “The traitor is in the King’s tent, unchecked and unfettered.”

Dain looked his usual brash self and hadn’t changed in the years Dwalin had last met up with him, save maybe a few more white hairs in his bright ginger hair and beard. The recent battle obviously had seen him unharmed, he was in a clean, polished uniform, red hair and beard shining and braids freshly done, and oozed confidence. With him were a stout, stern greybeard with muttonchops and bald head much like Dwalin’s – minus the inkings. The fellow very much looked like a warrior to the bone, but Dwalin didn’t know him. The other one was a surly looking dwarf with a thick mane of brown hair, elaborately braided eyebrows and a very neat beard braid that hung well below his richly decorated belt. Ubbe, son of Fribbe. He had always been a pain in the arse, ever the critic without providing solutions and highly allergic to anything that smelled even faintly like a compromise. Dwalin had been close to losing his temper with the annoying sod more times than he cared to remember.

“You’re taking a great risk, cousin,” Dain continued, addressing Thorin, his tone just this side of scathing, reminding Dwalin that he also tended to lose his temper with his brash cousin. “Mayhap you believe you’re safe in her presence. And truly, she’s such a puny thing, it should be no challenge for an accomplished warrior such as yourself to protect your life, even in the state you’re in and less so with your kin by your side.” Dain’s sharp eyes flickered from Dwalin - who growled low in his throat - to Balin who frowned deeply, to the lads, who eyed him with barely veiled displeasure. “Yet I wonder if it is wise, cousin, to have those loyal to you barred from your tent, but a thief and a traitor so-”

“Bilbo is no thief!” Kili interrupted hotly, nearly combusting with hot indignation, “And she’s certainly no traitor.”

“She took the Arkenstone, the symbol of the King’s right to rule. She gave it to the Elves and the Men!” Ubbe’s voice was dripping with accusation.

“Aye,” the stern dwarf agreed with a sonorous voice, “If that’s not treason then I don’t know what is. She likely thought she could press you into giving her a greater reward. Gold, gems, a position of acclaim.”

Behind him, Dwalin could feel Bilbo bristle. She moved out from his bulk before he could stop her and straightened her spine. He could almost feel her defiant glare at the stout dwarf heating the room. “What nonsense!” she admonished. “I have no interest in gold or gems and am perfectly content with who and what I am. I took the Arkenstone as a bargaining chip, nothing more. To buy time and avoid the Men and Elves attacking the mountain. The situation was dire.”

“Aye,” Fili added, deceptively calm, moving to fold his arms and thinking better of it when it hurt, “Not that you would know, since none of you were a part of Thorin Oakenshield’s Company.”

There was a moment’s silence and it was very satisfying to see the Ironfoot pale with a slightly pained wince. _So he does feel bad about not lending his support_, Dwalin concluded, somewhat mollified.

Ubbe, of course, overcame his discomfort about the Heir’s admonishment quickly. “Abiorn has a point,” he insisted aggressively and Dwalin thought it was good he could put a name to a face and made a mental note that he did like Abiorn from the Iron Hills just as little as Ubbe, son of Fribbe. “What concern is it of yours whether Erebor is attacked or not other than that the treasure would be lost once more?” Ubbe challenged the hobbit, lifting an elaborately braided eyebrow. “You are not even of our race.”

“My concern were your King and his Company of loyal dwarves!” Bilbo exclaimed, vibrating with indignation. “I could not stand by and witness the demise of those whom I’ve come to care for deeply.” The tiniest hitch in her voice gave away how truly worried she must have been at that time and Dwalin only now came to realize how much it would have pained her to have to result in such a desperate measure as she had. He reached for her hand and grabbed it firmly, hopefully conveying both his sorrow and his gratitude with the gesture.

“You expect us to believe that-“ Dain began to bellow, only to be sharply interrupted by the King. “It’s true, cousin. Bilbo’s actions protected the Company and myself from certain siege and starvation. The Elves and Men might not have taken the mountain by force, but they could have easily waited until we had perished and simply walked into Erebor over our dead bodies. We survived the dragon, but our supplies were all but gone.”

“Aye, Bilbo’s actions were honourable, born from great despair about a seemingly hopeless situation and worry for our safety.” Balin added firmly.

Dain was silent for a moment, sorting his thoughts, then his mouth set in a thin line and he dipped his chin towards the hobbit. “Why would a soft, tiny creature like you agree to join a group of dwarves and travel halfway across Arda?”

“Why indeed?” demanded Ubbe. “You must have had ulterior motives. Some dark desire, some despicable motive.” He balled his mail clad fists that the metal creaked.

Bilbo waved the dwarf’s words way with one firm swipe of her hand. “I am not a fool, Lord Dain,” she said firmly, facing the Ironfoot and ignoring Ubbe, who bristled at her disregard. Dwalin had to bite back on a grin. The lass was long done being intimidated by dwarven posturing. “I knew and understood the risk. I assure you I spent plenty of time in fear and terrified during the quest, but found myself resolved to fulfil my end of the bargain anyway. Not just because I signed a contract, but because helping Thorin Oakenshield reclaim his home was the right thing to do.” She wrinkled her button nose with a disdainful sniff. “Bad enough that not more of his own people could be bothered giving their support, he had to rely on little old me.”

“You impertinent-“ Abiorn began, interrupted when the tent flap opened and the rest of the Company filed in, Óin at the head. “You best not be upsetting my patients,” he growled at no-one in particular, making a beeline to Thorin and fussing over his bandages before moving on to Kili and Fili. He slapped on Dwalin’s shoulder and carefully took in the hobbit’s appearance, laying a hand on her forehead briefly and nodding pleased when she gave him a small smile.

“Bilbo, lass,” Bofur said in his usual cheerful tone as he made his way before her, but his eyes were serious. “I’m so glad you’re well.” He carefully tapped his forehead to hers before winking up at Dwalin. Bombur swept her in a gentle hug, barely getting out of the way before Dori grabbed her to do the same. Ori had tears in his eyes when he patted her shoulder and Nori bowed with a flourish and a cheeky grin to Dwalin and her both.

Glóin grabbed Dwalin’s shoulder to smash their foreheads together but was very gentle when touching his brows to Bilbo’s. The Company’s actions were watched by Dain, Ubbe and Abiorn with deep frowns, none doing a very good job at hiding their bewilderment and displeasure.

“What did we miss?” Glóin asked with a raised brow when they all had positioned themselves throughout the first tent. Dwalin felt a little calmer now, with the obvious support from the Company.

“We were trying to establish that Bilbo had no ulterior motives when joining the quest other than helping us getting back our home. A concept that seems unfathomable to some,” Balin said, shooting a withering look at Ubbe. Aye, Balin would know the surly dwarf and his tendency to tripe better than anybody, having shared countless hours at the council table with him in the Erebor of old.

“It’s because she’s selfless, our Bilbo,” Ori blurted, blushing when all eyes went to him.

“One has to be having a great deal of empathy to know how to be selfless,” Fili added, showing wisdom beyond his years, “It’s a bit rare in the Ered Luin, with folk having faced so much hardship, it makes everyone stick to their family only and keep their hearts close, but we sure know it when we see it.”

Kili frowned and mused. “Maybe it’s not something they do out East?”

Dain bristled and Dwalin almost laughed.

“Should venture out every now and then,” Nori commented in an audible mutter, “Far off everywhere, them Hills are.” Unsurprising, the thief was very unaffected by the contemptuous glares of Dain, Ubbe and Abiorn.

“A teamplayer is what Bilbo is,” Bofur threw in, pulling his furry hat straight, “Gotta be selfless to be a teamplayer. It’s why I like the mines. It’s dangerous work and own interests needs put out of the way and energies directed to a project at whole.”

“It’s the way she’s been brought up, our burglar,” Glóin said and stroked his beard, no doubt thinking of his Gimli. “How she conducts herself is touching people in a positive way. It’s been like that with her since the moment we barged into her home.”

“Aye,” Balin followed, nodding decisively. “The lass has given up all she wants and needs for our benefit.”

Dwalin felt proud as punch at all the praise for his hobbit and couldn’t have said it any better even if he were a dwarf of words. Although ... “Not all,” he objected, looking down at the lass by his side, still holding her hand in his. “She’s not given up on me.”

“Still to your benefit though,” his brother chuckled, shaking his head at him.

Bilbo had blushed during all the praise from the Company, and looked mightily as if she’d do another one of her disappearing acts just to be away from it all, but she did return his gaze and even though the blush spread to her ears she did smile up at him fondly.

Ubbe harrumphed at the same time as the lass said “Pishposh”, waving her free hand as if to dispel all the positive words into thin air and to cool her heated face at the same time. “It’s not about me. It’s your King, who once more has vastly exceeded his reputation as being indomitable,” Bilbo proclaimed, gesturing at Thorin, whose eyebrows went from frowning in displeasure at Ubbe’s reaction to travelling up his forehead at the hobbit’s praise in surprise. “He has returned home to Erebor in triumph. The dragon is dead, your people avenged, a battle has been won. And the Kingdom Under the Mountain is yours once more.”

“Aye,” Ubbe remarked. “And you can claim none of it as your doing, Halfling. Selfless you may be. But Dain is right: a puny creature like you does not have the skills to be heroic in any way. It was all Thorin, _whom you betrayed_.” 

“Best mind your words now,” Dwalin warned through gritted teeth, feeling his temper flare. He had quite enough of those pompous arses verbally attacking his hobbit.

“I am not half of anything,” Bilbo snarled, predictably, “So you will kindly refrain from calling me Halfling.” Her pretty face curved into a smile that was anything but. “And if you must know: I am quite skilled with shears,” she threw a meaningful glare at the dwarf’s elaborate eyebrows, “And I can move quietly and unseen. Even the dragon said so.” She lifted her chin proudly.

It was Fili’s turn to snort and Thorin didn’t even bother to hide his amusement while there were several sniggers going around the tent from the members of the Company. Balin closed his eyes momentarily, likely silently asking in his head why it was his lot in life to so often be surrounded by folk who didn’t give a fig about diplomacy.

“Are you threatening me?” Ubbe bellowed, taking a menacing step forward. Dwalin tensed, ready to interfere, but Abiorn stepped between them.

“Are your skills with the axe as sharp as your tongue?” he asked the hobbit, contempt clear in his voice.

Dain huffed and flapped a vague hand towards the hobbit’s hand firmly clasped in Dwalin’s rugged fist. “She doesn’t need skills with the axe, she has Dwalin. And I’m certain he has no complaint about the _skills of her_ _tongue_.”

Dwalin felt his ears turn red at the insinuation. He was about to retort hotly when Bilbo let go of his hand and stepped right up to his cousin, poking an accusing finger hard into his chest, uncaring that he wouldn’t feel a thing through his armour and she’d only hurt herself. “Shame on you, Lord Dain! Don’t think you are above me taking that iron leg of yours and whacking you over the head with it to teach you some manners. Has your mother not taught you to leave vile words out of conversations when they cannot be excused by the overindulgence of ale?”

The Ironfoot looked down on the petite hobbit lass and quirked an eyebrow. “You best leave my Amad out of this, lass,” he retorted in a growl, but Dwalin could tell he was impressed by her tenacity.

“Why?” she bit back, the finger still poking, “You deny that she would not be pulling your ear right now, were she here, hearing you speak like that?”

Dain growled low in his throat but he couldn’t say anything to the contrary - his Amad had been a most impressive dam and would indeed have pulled his ear at such a comment.

With a satisfied hum Bilbo took her finger away and stepped back to Dwalin’s side, not taking her narrowed eyes from the Lord of the Iron Hills.

“You sure don’t mince your words,” Dain said, stroking his beard.

“The only mince is in my meat loaf,” Bilbo retorted, her tone so dry it could have ignited a whole stack of firewood.

“And a great part of our dinner at Bag End it was, too,” Kili added with a laugh, gingerly moving in his cot to swing his legs over the side, “I enjoyed every bite.”

Mumbled aye’s went around the group and Balin did another round of eyerolling regarding diplomatic behaviour but Fili grinned with a nod. Dwalin couldn’t blame them; he, too, remembered Bilbo’s meat loaf, as he did all the other delicious food at Bag End.

Ubbe stiffened and grumbled under his breath, likely unsavoury things Dwalin was glad he couldn’t quite make out, although Nori’s face darkened.

Dain, however, fought to keep the corners of his mouth from curling. “You’ve got spirit,” he told the hobbit, “I give you that.”

“She’s also got me,” Dwalin added, determinedly, reaching out to put a possessive arm around her shoulder.

“And me,” Balin said without hesitation, stepping to Bilbo’s other side, followed swiftly by Fili.

Dain nodded, slowly stroking his beard. But his two advisors stared, appalled. “It’s bad enough that all of you would associate yourselves with the likes of her, an outsider at that. But a dwarf of the line of Durin would sully his blood by taking a Halfling as his mate?” Ubbe asked, incredulously.

Dwalin frowned deeply at the dwarf, adding a growl to clearly show his displeasure at the words. “Bilbo has declared me hers,” he said firmly, “As I have her heart, she has mine. And I will care for her heart better than I ever cared for my own. Now, tell me, Ubbe, son of Fribbe, what dwarf of honour sends away a lass that has made him hers?”

“And what dwarf of honour sends away anyone who has saved his life?” Thorin added, speaking clearly and regally from his cot. “The Company and the line of Durin are honoured beyond measure to have Bilbo Baggins in their midst. The line of Durin may be one of Kings, but Bilbo has a nobility of the heart we can only express admiration for. And I can only hope that some of it will rub off on me in the years to come. For Bilbo Baggins is most welcome to stay in Erebor. She has left her home to help us regain ours. For that alone we owe her our gratitude.”

“Aye,” Kili nodded eagerly, “And let’s not forget the trolls, Azog, Beorn, the spiders-“

“-the Elves, the dragon, Bard and Thranduil ... and all that happened on Ravenhill-” Fili continued thoughtfully, counting out each point with his fingers.

“-we would never even have made it over the Misty Mountains,” Kili added, “Although I wonder-“ He turned to look at Bilbo with his puppy eyes. “Did you help us because ... it’s us ... or just because of Dwalin?”

Dwalin wanted to cuff the lad over the head but Bilbo only huffed. “What a silly question, Kili,” she said and put her hands on her hips, the soft curves bumping into Dwalin’s side, making him blink rapidly. “Am I not part of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield? All of us were in this together, from the moment that wizard made that mark on my door until the very end. And a much better end it turned out to be than what it seemed to be for a while.” She looked at Thorin, a tentative smile gracing her lips.

Balin cleared his throat. “Khazad reward the worthy. Miss Bilbo Baggins has saved all our lives, repeatedly, and that of the King and his heirs in particular. Any who disrespect or insult her person or her name will face the wrath of the King, the line of Durin, the sons of Fundin and the other members of the Company, and they will have no future in Erebor.”

Thorin nodded firmly. “Aye, I will not abide antagonism toward my burglar. Dain, make sure your people know and act accordingly.”

“Aye, we’ve faced pretty dark glares on our way through camp,” Dwalin said and folded his arms over his chest, squaring his stance and looking down at Abiorn from his impressive dwarven height. “Didn’t like that. Not at all.” The stern general narrowed his eyes at Dwalin and tugged at his thick beard braid in consideration.

“But your Majesty-” Ubbe tried once more, clearly not liking the open rebuke and the underlying threat, although his tone was more groveling than pleading. Thorin glowered.

“The King’s word is not up to debate,” Glóin said loudly and firmly, clearly having enough of the nonsense.

“Aye, Thorin, I’ll make sure it is known,” Dain conceded and faced the hobbit once more, his expression contemplative. He nodded his chin towards Dwalin. “You love him then?” he asked the hobbit thoughtfully.

Bilbo nodded and her messy curls flew. She looked up at Dwalin with a mischievous twinkle in her eye before staring squarely back at the Ironfoot. “Yes,” she said, very firmly, “I will, every night. Sometimes twice.”

While Bofur snorted a laugh and Dori tutted Dwalin couldn’t help but think back on how they had spent the last night and what Bilbo had said about hobbit lasses and he felt his ears turn red once more. Then pride and love and _longing_ surged through him and he grabbed the hobbit and kissed her soundly, her arms going around his neck immediately, pressing herself against him and responding to the caresses of his lips with much eagerness. Small chuckles from the Company erupted into cackling laughter and hoots and when Dwalin finally released her Bilbo blinked up at him dazedly.

Dain barked a laugh and his mouth was curled into a wide smile. “Well then,” the Ironfoot said, stepping close to Thorin’s cot. “Maybe some ale can be found and we can hear how Miss Baggins saved you all from trolls and spiders and all manners of other dangers, as I am thoroughly intrigued by now.” He turned to Ubbe who was about to retort something to the contrary but Dain simply waved him off. “Quit your sour talk. And be quick about that ale, Ubbe, otherwise you miss out on the story of our King’s quest.” The dwarf looked most unhappy and was about to comment sharply, but when he noticed the glower directed at him from all sides he wilted like week old greens. Abiorn had softened considerably, his stern expression had melted into amusement and Dwalin was pleased to see it. With a resolute hand on Ubbe’s arm Abiorn dragged the other dwarf from the tent.

Thorin smiled and clapped his cousin on the shoulder, wincing when the motion hurt his ribs. In a flurry of action chairs and benches were brought in until the tent was well and truly cramped. Dwalin pulled Bilbo down on a seat next to him, signing to Bombur to make sure some food was at hand for the hobbit as well. The rotund dwarf nodded and bustled to the back of the tent, clattering around with pots and plates, obviously busy putting a little something together for her. When Ubbe, Abiorn and a few more of Dain’s councilors and generals returned with the ale Dwalin handed Bilbo the first tankard and smiled into his beard as she took a deep draught from it, smacking her lips with a sigh. Then she wriggled a little in her seat, sidling closer to him and pressing herself into his bulk. Dwalin couldn’t help but chuckle fondly, smiling down at her pretty face when she gazed up at him with her hazel eyes, the emerald speckles shining with love. He pressed a kiss into her curls, momentarily rejoicing in her scent of lavender and roses.

Aye, she was a treasure, his hobbit, and by Durin, he would endeavour to make sure he deserved her every day the Valar would give them together.

“Well,” Bilbo began, when it quieted down and everyone’s eyes were on her. “For me, the quest of Thorin Oakenshield began when I sat on the bench outside Bag End, smoking my pipe and soaking up the first rays of sunshine on the morning of a blissfully warm April’s day, enjoying the smells of spring and the sounds of my fellow hobbits beginning their days at their farms and in their gardens. That’s when one of the tall folk stepped in front of me, blocking the sun, all clad in grey and with a long grey beard, leaning on a staff. It was, I assure you, quite an unusual sight in Hobbiton. But as I was raised to be polite and being hospitable is a virtue in the Shire I gave him a nod and wished him a ‘Good morning’. He glared at me with piercing eyes from under his grey, pointy hat and long, bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his shady hat. ‘What do you mean?’ was his reply. ‘Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it was a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?’ It was a thoroughly irritating response. And I said-“ ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End


End file.
